


Tourney

by QuidnamInferorum



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/M, Fluff, Knight Dean, Princess reader, Smut, Virgin Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 20:32:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8637133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuidnamInferorum/pseuds/QuidnamInferorum
Summary: This is terrifying to post. I’ve not been so nervous to post something since I posted the Prologue for GTY. But, I hit a 100 followers on tumblr, and am actually at something like 121 as of this morning (HOLY SHIT, YOU GUYS, WHAT?!), so I want to do something special for all y’all for following me and being so kind and awesome. And, hell, I have a Knight!Dean kink that I’m here to force upon y’all. So, you know…if this sucks, let me know; if you like it, let me know; if you like certain parts and hate everything else, please, for the love of Chuck, let me know. I’m dying to hear what y’all think about this. Also, if you’re not down for smut, there’s a break in the story were it could, theoretically end, so, once it breaks, you’re more than welcome to just stop there and I promise not to be offended. I actually wrote it like that for a few reasons, the first and foremost being that I never thought I’d post this, but, if ever I did, I was sure I wouldn’t post the smut, so I wanted a clear stopping point. Also, fun fact: making me write a medieval!AU makes me write a lot more pretentiously. I’m stalling. Okay, ending this essay-length author’s note.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is terrifying to post. I’ve not been so nervous to post something since I posted the Prologue for GTY. But, I hit a 100 followers on tumblr, and am actually at something like 121 as of this morning (HOLY SHIT, YOU GUYS, WHAT?!), so I want to do something special for all y’all for following me and being so kind and awesome. And, hell, I have a Knight!Dean kink that I’m here to force upon y’all. So, you know…if this sucks, let me know; if you like it, let me know; if you like certain parts and hate everything else, please, for the love of Chuck, let me know. I’m dying to hear what y’all think about this. Also, if you’re not down for smut, there’s a break in the story were it could, theoretically end, so, once it breaks, you’re more than welcome to just stop there and I promise not to be offended. I actually wrote it like that for a few reasons, the first and foremost being that I never thought I’d post this, but, if ever I did, I was sure I wouldn’t post the smut, so I wanted a clear stopping point. Also, fun fact: making me write a medieval!AU makes me write a lot more pretentiously. I’m stalling. Okay, ending this essay-length author’s note.

The day was bright and airy, the sun shining down on the jousting grounds.

Y/N, however, was in turmoil.

Though many stories painted a wonderful picture when it came to being royalty—beautiful gowns, lavish parties, and handsome princes—in reality, the gowns were restricting, the parties dull, and the princes bastards.

The best part of Y/N’s day was easily visiting with those around the castle (followed closely by her lessons). Oftentimes, the crown princess could be found in the kitchens or by the training grounds. She’d been quite lucky to make friends with a few of the maids and most of her father’s knights.

However, she was closest with one particular knight and they were practically attached at the hip.

If the princess was completely honest, she’d decided to strike up a friendship with her father’s newest knight several years ago because he was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. With hunter green eyes surrounded by a galaxy of freckles, a perfect nose and cheekbones, the softest-looking lips: she thought he looked like an illustration from one of her story books, not a real person.

Then, they began talking, and he revealed himself to be one of the most genuine, caring men she’d ever met, even if his cockiness would bleed into everything he did. What could she say? He had plenty of reasons to be cocky.

He quickly became the bar she measured all potential suitors by. Princes came often, lusting after a crown more than a princess, and all were found wanting in one way or another.

That prince was a bore, that one was rude, that one had wandering eyes—they were all deficient in one way or another.

This didn’t help her little crush, of course. In fact, Dean became her accomplice, often interrupting the poor attempts at courtship with false summons from her father or whatever excuse was necessary to save her; after which, they’d hide somewhere (the library was one of her favorite hiding spots) for a while, just talking. She’d tell Dean about her suitor if he was especially pompous or stupid; otherwise, he would regale her with tales of what he and the other knights did since last they spoke.

These moments, be they minutes or hours, were more precious to her than anything else.

And she’d soon have to give them up forever.

That day was the day set for the annual tourney, celebrating the birth of their kingdom. Every year, the tourney was open to all (her grandmother’s idea, to help foster camaraderie and unity), with some sort of grandiose prize awaiting the victor. One year, it was a barony, another a large cache of gold, and, this year, it was the princess’ hand.

After years of declining and rejecting every suitor that came her way, her father was sick of it. She was getting past marriageable age and, if he ever wanted to retire, he needed to marry her off and soon.

Ergo, he’d come up with his self-proclaimed brilliant idea.

When she’d found out, she’d gone to Dean, tears flooding out of her Y/E/C eyes and spilling onto his tunic.

He’d just held her and let her ruin his clothes, his knuckles white as he clutched her to him.

When she’d finally pulled away, he’d wiped her cheek with a calloused thumb and a touch softer than most would expect of a battle-worn knight.

“It’s okay, Princess,” he’d mumbled. “I’ll protect you. Always do, don’t I?”

She’d shrugged him off—there wasn’t much he could do, short of entering the tourney himself—but she’d taken his words as the kindness he’d meant them to be.

However, she hadn’t see Dean all day.

She’d spent the morning searching for him, hoping to spend her last, un-fiancée’d moments with him. None of the other knights had been any help, and her handmaiden had been, unfortunately, on Y/N’s ass all day to get ready for the tourney.

She was laced into her favorite dress—a hunter green gown with silver trim that reminded her of her best friend and had even pulled a stuttered compliment from the knight himself when last she’d worn it—by her handmaiden and a maid before having her Y/H/C hair braided off to the side and away from her face. After slipping into some matching shoes, she was off and down the stairs to the tournament grounds.

Her Y/E/C eyes still searched for her knight, praying that she could see him before getting to her seat and into “princess mode.”

However, she was met not by Dean, but disappointment.

She sighed heavily as she got closer to her seat. A smile graced her features, however, when she saw one of her friends standing by the steps that led up to her seat.

“Sam!” she called out in a rather un-princess-like manner.

The immensely tall man turned to her, his hazel eyes lighting up as he caught her gaze. “Princess,” he smiled, revealing dimpled cheeks that had broken many maiden’s hearts.

Sam was actually Dean’s younger brother and her father’s youngest junior advisor. They were the sons of John Winchester, who was in charge of castle security. The Winchester family had been serving the royal one for generations, in one way or another, and their families were bound in almost every way.

Y/N took his hands in hers as she greeted him. “Samuel, I swear that you grow taller every time I see you.”

He grinned at that. “Well, ‘tis only fair, since you grow more beautiful every time I see you.”

“Careful, lest your wife hear you and become jealous,” she giggled.

He had recently been married to his sweetheart: ElRoy, the daughter of a local healer. The two of them were so sickeningly in love that, often, Dean and she would pretend to vomit or be disgusted when the youngest Winchester and his wife were around.

To be honest, their love was Y/N’s ideal. She desperately wished for a love like that of her own.

Now, however, that she was being married off to whoever won this tournament, she sincerely doubted that that dream would come true. Not that she ever truly expected it to, since Dean never gave any indication of returning her affection.

Sam laughed at her joke, though it wasn’t as deep as the one she loved, nor did his eyes crinkle at the edge. “Let it be our secret, then!”

She smiled warmly before looking around him. “Have you seen your brother? I’ve not been able to find him all morning.”

Sam’s smile got just a tiny bit tighter, something she almost didn’t notice. “My apologies, Your Highness, but I’m not sure. Would you mind letting me escort you to your seat instead of Dean?”

“Samuel Winchester, what are you and Dean planning?” her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Nothing. When last I saw him, Dean was helping a few of the few of the squires find everything and get prepared for the tourney.”

That sounded plausible enough. She could easily see the kind and noble knight going to help all the poor squires of the visiting noblemen. It felt like he was hiding from her, but she didn’t want to fight with Sam. Dean must’ve had a reason for avoiding her and, as much as she needed her best friend by her side, she just had to suck it up.

“I know I’m a poor substitute,” Sam held out his arm for her.

She twined her arm with his as she answered, “I would be honored.”

He used his free arm to motion towards the steps leading to the royal viewing area.

Her father was already seated and awaiting her. “Glad to see you could join us, Y/N! Don’t worry—this tourney won’t have any lasting effects on our kingdom.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Whoever decided that these kind of life-changing events should happen this shortly after dawn is to blame, Father. I do my best to fight the blight of the early morning sun _and_ get here in the most timely manner—alas, I am only human.”

He let out a heavy sigh, but said nothing more, merely motioning for more alcohol.

She rolled her eyes once more as she took her seat. She often got along pretty well with her father, right up until the mention of marriage.

Shortly after getting comfortable, the King stood. “Welcome one and all. We offer our thanks to all who traveled, no matter how far, to join us here to celebrate the birth of our glorious nation! I officially declare this tourney begun!”

There was cheering as those in the royal viewing area politely clapped.

Thus began the long-dreaded event.

The first few hours of matches flew by. Many of the foreign nobles and princes were absolutely decimating the commoners.

All except one.

An unknown man, who went only by Smith, was holding his own against the noblemen and even easily destroying some of the cockier ones. He fought under no banner or sigil. The King had been whispering to his advisors since Smith had started trouncing his opponents, trying to discover his identity.

“Sam,” Y/N whispered to her friend, afraid of bringing the junior advisor to her father’s attention. “Do you know who this man is?”

He shrugged. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I know of no Smith family.”

“Surely Dean or your father would at least know the man well enough to enroll him. Would they be able to tell us?”

He shifted his weight from one leg to another, thinking a moment before answering. “I’m unsure, Your Highness. And they’re certainly both much too occupied to be subject to interrogation at this time.”

She frowned. “How dare you bring me facts and logic, Samuel?”

Sam bowed his head. “My apologies. I swear to only bring you fairy tales and lies from now on.”

“As expected of an advisor,” she nodded. Her eyes drifted back to the jousting ground and onto the man named Smith. “Still, for a man working so hard to marry me, I’d like to know his face.”

“Perhaps you do already, Your Highness.”

“You say things like that and I worry,” Y/N turned back to Sam. “What are you hiding from me?”

“Nothing, Your Highness.”

“You are aware, of course, that lying to a member of the royal family constitutes treason?”

He smiled softly. “Somehow, Your Highness, I don’t think you the type to execute your friends.”

“Ah, damn me and my scruples,” she sighed heavily. “And you’re quite sure I can do nothing to convince you to reveal whatever you’re hiding from me?”

“I’m not hiding anything from Your Royal Highness.”

“Oh, naturally,” she placed her head in her hands. Before speaking again, she ran her hands down her face in frustration. “Well, just so you know, neither Winchester shall hear the end of it once I do find out whatever it is you’re hiding from me.”

He bowed his head respectfully. “Whatever you say, Your Highness.”

She answered him with a roll of her eyes, which caused another dimpled smile to cross Sam’s cheeks.

She turned back and watched as the man known only as Smith decimated his opponent yet again.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed as she watched him help his opponent back to his feet. A small smile graced her lips at the move. It was an honorable gesture and it gave her a bit of hope. Sure, she knew next to nothing about this man, but the simple fact that he was being kind to his opponents, something that most of the other tourney contestants were not, gave her a tiny bit of hope.

The tourney dwindled down to the final two contestants about an hour before sunset. It was Smith and a viscount from another country.

Going into the final match, the princess found herself rooting for the mystery man, if only because he wasn’t the snobby noble she’d met once or twice.

Sam stood by Y/N’s chair the entire match, his white-knuckled grip holding him upright. She was wringing her hands the whole time. She wished that Dean was there with her, calming her even just a little bit.

The entire match, they were neck and neck. One would pull ahead for but a moment before being pushed back by his opponent, then the cycle would repeat again.

It seemed as though every spectator was on the edge of their seat.

Finally, however, the viscount was on the ground with Smith standing over him, his sword digging ever so slightly into the nobleman’s throat. The man on the ground glared up at his opponent and, with what looked like quite a bit of effort, finally yielded.

The crowd erupted in applause—rarely did someone not of noble birth win the tourney, and it felt like this was a victory of the people as a whole, especially now that their new king would be one of them.

The King stood as the two competitors walked towards the royal viewing area.

Suddenly, every fear that Y/N had about the whole arrangement gripped her at once. Suddenly knowing that she had a real fiancée and not a hypothetical one was too much. Her breathing shortened and she gripped the armrests of her seat like they were the only thing tethering her to the ground.

She vaguely heard her father congratulating all the contestants and making whatever grandiose speech he felt like, but she didn’t snap back to reality until she heard her father ask, “Now, Smith, that the contest is over, you’ll reveal your identity to us.”

Y/N shook her head. “Sam, I can’t do this.”

“Wait, what?”

“I…I love another. I cannot marry him.”

Sam looked more flustered than she’d ever seen him. “Please, Princess, just get through this part, and—!”

“Is something wrong, my child?”

Y/N and Sam turned to the King, who was glaring at them.

“No, Your Majesty. She’s just excited,” Sam lied smoothly.

He frowned, but turned back to his people. “Forgive my daughter, for she’s easily excitable.”

“I know Her Highness all too well.”

Her gaze shot up from where it’d fallen to her feet. Her eyes were wide enough to nearly pop out of her skull as she watched the man known as Smith take off his helm to reveal her best and closest friend, Dean Winchester.

Another peal of cheers ran out once the spectators recognized him, and Y/N’s eyes filled with tears.

The noble Dean had bested was sputtering in rage, but the King was smiling. “I could not ask for a better son, Dean. It’s about time that our families were joined in this way.”

Dean’s jade green eyes sparkled a bit before he turned to Y/N. He was looking for her reaction, obviously, and she was feeling almost every emotion she’d ever felt before all at the same time.

There was a flurry of activity after that, so she had no chance to give him the reaction he was looking for.

They, in fact, didn’t see each other again until the celebratory banquet after sundown.

Y/N was by herself in her room, trying to get herself in check. Then a knock came to her door, and she knew that there was literally nothing she could do to calm herself down.

She got up, her knees only shaking slightly, and walked over to her door. She took one last deep breath before opening it.

Dean stood there in a crisp, brand new outfit more befitting of his new station. The stark white of his shirt contrasted perfectly with his tanned skin, and the dark pants only accentuated the strong legs, bowed by all of his time on horseback.

When he saw her, a nervous smile broke across his stupidly handsome face. “Hey Princess.”

She shifted her weight, giving him an awkward smile in return. “H-Hello, Dean.”

He swallowed audibly before holding his arm out. “I, uh…I believe they’re expectin’ us.”

She wrapped her hand through his arm. This must’ve been the hundredth time they’d entangled their arms like this, but, to Y/N at least, it was like she’d never touched him before. She hoped she was at least acting normally.

Dean knew her well, however. “Princess…are you disappointed?”

“What?” she cried.

“I know you wanted to marry someone you loved, but…I figured that I was the best of a bad situation.”

She stopped in her tracks, causing him to stop alongside her. “That’s why you entered the tourney? To protect me?”

He nodded. “I swore to always protect you, Princess.”

Her heart sank. How stupid was she to think that he could love her. He obviously saw her as family, but that hadn’t been the kind of love she had been dreaming of; it wasn’t the kind of love she wanted to be married to.

“Dean,” she couldn’t look him in the eyes. “We can’t get married.”

It was silent for a moment. Dean dropped her arm and moved to stand in front of her, but said nothing.

So she did. “I can’t let you give up your life for me, Dean. I’m a princess—my life’s never been my own. But…but _you_ can go and marry whomsoever you choose and—!”

“What if I choose you, Y/N?”

“I don’t want to be chosen because of your desire to save me, because of a promise you made to me when I was too emotional to accept it!”

“So you’d rather marry that ridiculous viscount over your best friend?”

“I’m going into a loveless marriage no matter what, Dean—there’s no reason for you to suffer as well.”

Dean’s jaw ticked. “Oh, our marriage would be loveless?”

“Of course it would, Dean! You would be married to someone you don’t love and forced into all the trappings of royalty that you despise!”

It was a moment before he answered, and his voice was quiet, like a small child being reprimanded. “You think I don’t love you?”

She huffed. “I believe that you love me as you love Sam, like family. But that shouldn’t be the kind of love shared by husband and wife. Please, let me speak to my father, let me protect you for once.”

He ran his hand over his face, sighing heavily in frustration. When his hand finally fell, his eyes looked into hers, seemingly searching for something in her expression, her body language, her inflection, anything.

Then, his eyes dropped down to her dress, the hunter green one she’d been wearing to the tourney earlier. She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed thickly. Finally, he looked back into her eyes. “Why did you wear that dress?”

She started. “Wha…What does it matter?”

“Why wear that dress today?”

She felt her cheeks heating up. “It…it—!”

“Do you know that this is my favorite dress of yours?”

She shook her head just slightly. “I believe you complimented me when last I wore this…but, no, I did not.”

“It is. Every time you wear this dress, I’m in awe.”

“Dean, please,” she begged, though, at this moment, she had no idea just what she was pleading for.

“I was so worried that I would fail. Sam’ll tell ya that I’ve barely slept these last few nights. Then, when I walked out onto the grounds and saw you there, in _this_ dress…it felt like a sign. Like you wanted me to win, even if you didn’t know I was competing.”

Y/N looked down, trying to process what he was saying to her. “Dean…”

“Please, Y/N,” his voice was just above a whisper. “Let me do this.”

She stared up at him, trying to fight back the tears. Without thinking, she nodded.

A relieved smile spread across his face and he let out a heavy breath. His calloused hand rose to wipe away one of the tears that had escaped onto her cheek. “C’mon, Princess, don’t cry.”

She laughed quietly. “It’s been a long day, Winchester.”

“Was it good, at least?”

She looked up to see him standing so close, so scandalously close. If someone were to walk by and see them, nothing good would come of it, even if they were engaged.

And she couldn’t care less.

“It’s ending better than I could’ve imagined.” She tilted her head up, trying to tell him, without words, what she wanted.

His eyes flitted back and forth between hers. Then, without a word, he leaned down and brushed his plush lips against hers.

The first thing she noticed was that his lips were ever so slightly chapped. He pulled away before any other thought could register, staring down at her with his piercing green eyes.

She smiled softly, which made him laugh a bit nervously. “I…I shouldn’t’ve done that. Should’ve waited until we were married.”

“Does that mean you won’t kiss me again?”

“Hell no.”

* * *

The wedding was exactly a week from the day of the tourney. The King had been planning long before the event; the only thing missing had been the groom.

Y/N stood in front of the suite she was to share with her new husband, clad not in the spectacular gown that had dazzled every one of the wedding guests, but rather a simple nightdress.

After their talk before the banquet, she and Dean had not been left alone again, and she was both desperate and terrified to see him again.

Desperate because she knew now that he must feel as she does, that he must love her as a man loves a woman. Dean had never been one for flowery words, but his actions told a careful listener everything they needed to know.

Terrified because what if she was wrong? She needed to hear it and Lord knows that she needed to say and have him hear it. She knew it to be juvenile, but if she only heard him say it once, it would be enough.

And then, of course, there were her wedding night duties to think of…

So, she stood in front of the massive doors, thinking deeply as she wrung her hands.

“Hey.”

She turned to see her new husband standing to her right, his red cheeks highlighting the galaxy of freckles adorning his face.

She huffed out a nervous laugh. “Dean.”

He smiled, holding out his hand for her to take. She did. “Nervous?”

She shrugged. “This all happened so quickly, I think I’m still adjusting.”

He brought her hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss to her knuckles. “I promised to always protect you, didn’t I? Trust me.”

In response, Y/N stood on her tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

He smiled, pushing open the door to the suite with his free hand.

The inside of the suite was beautiful. A plush bed was made up with crisp, white sheets and a gilded changing screen just beyond it. A roaring fire dominated the other side of the room. In front of the fireplace were two small chairs and a table adorned with various little treats, hors d’oeuvres, and two flutes of champagne.

“You want a drink?” Dean motioned to the table.

“God, yes.”

He laughed as he pulled her over to the table. He only let go of her hand to get the glasses and held one out to her. “Milady.”

She giggled, albeit nervously, and took the glass. “Thank you, good sir knight.” She sipped from the flute, her eyes darting between Dean’s and the bed waiting somehow ominously.

When he noticed, he placed a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it lightly, as though to warm her up. “Hey, look at me.”

She gulped and did as he asked.

“There’s no reason to be scared, alright? You know that I’d never do anything to hurt you, right?”

She sighed. “I do, Dean, but…I worry that I’ll disappoint you, that you’ll be unsatisfied, that it’ll hurt no matter what you do because I’ve heard the stories from my handmaidens and—!”

He cut her off with a bruising kiss that left her breathless. She distantly heard her champagne flute hit the ground.

Then Dean pulled away and leaned down. His arm hooked under her knees, and he lifted her into a bridal style hold. She shrieked and threw her arms around his shoulders. He gave her a cocky smirk, which she answered with a roll of her eyes.

He carried her to the bed and plopped her down on it.

She opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, but no sound came out when Dean crawled on top of her.

“Hi.”

“Oh…uh, h-hello.”

His hand came up to brush some strands of hair from her face. “You _will_ tell me if you need to stop, won’t you?”

She gripped his shoulders tightly and nodded.

With that, his lips descended on hers.

They spent a little while on memorizing each other’s mouths, this being their first real opportunity to do so.

She had a mild heart attack when his tongue rolled across her bottom lip, but was quick to melt under his ministrations.

Finally, between Dean and the fire, Y/N was burning. She started wriggling under her husband and his name left her lips in a whiny moan.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath. He pulled back, his hands landing on her knees resting either side of him.

Her hands were bunched up in the front of his nightshirt. The blush that had adorned his cheeks earlier had expanded to what she could see of his neck and chest. His eyes searched hers, taking a moment before his hands started moving slowly up her legs.

She gulped audibly. Her eyes slammed shut, trying to calm her heart before it beat out of her chest.

His hands stopped at her mid-thigh. “Would it be easier if I undressed first?”

Y/N’s eyes snapped open. “Um,” she stuttered, more than a little surprised by the abruptness of the question. “P-Perhaps?”

He smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to the tip of her nose. He then began to undo the ties at the neck of his nightshirt.

She sat up suddenly, her hands stopping him without any direction from her.

He eyed her warily, waiting for some sort of explanation.

Without a word, she started slowly undoing the ties on his nightshirt.

He let out a quiet sigh of relief, letting his hands resume their previous position.

“I, um,” she mumbled once she finished. “I think you have to do the next part.”

He leaned down, kissing her softly. He pulled back with a smile before pulling his nightshirt over his head.

Y/N averted her eyes, afraid of invading his privacy (or, quite possibly, his nudity in general).

Dean chuckled as he took her face in his hands, kissing her once again. He picked up her hands and placed them on his chest. “Gotta get used to me sometime, sweetheart.”

She gave a breathless laugh in return. Her eyes were fixated on him now, unable to tear away from the paragon of man who’d fought so hard to win her hand. “I don’t think I ever shall.”

He answered with a rather smug smile and let his hands return to her thighs. “Take your time.”

She gave him a grateful smile. Then she let her curiosity take over. Her fingers lightly trailed over his chest, trying to memorize every bump, scar, and freckle she found. She leaned forward to kiss just under his Adam’s apple, in the hollow of his throat.

After quickly convincing her that the sound he had emitted was a _very_ good one, she returned to the task in front of her. When her fingers trailed over his taut nipples and he made that noise again, she couldn’t contain herself.

She was peppering kisses across the entire expanse of his chest as her fingers trailed down to his stomach. Her hands found his hip bone, sharp and angular and leading her probing hands downwards.

“Son of a bitch,” he groaned, pulling back.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” he rested his hands on her cheeks. “No, no, I just…uh…I don’t want us to get ahead of ourselves.”

She frowned. “Are you alright?”

“I’m happy, I promise. This is more than I deserve.”

She sat up a little more to press a soft kiss to his lips, resting her forehead against his after. She opened her eyes, watching him pant slightly, the ever-present blush growing. “I love you, Dean.”

His eyes widened at her confession, and he pulled back a little bit. “You…what?”

She pulled him back, slanting her lips over his stupidly plush ones. “I love you, Dean Winchester. Thank you for entering the joust, for winning, for…for marrying me.”

A smile bright enough to light up the room split his face. “I…I love you too, Princess.”

She practically vibrated with happiness. With a giant grin on her face, she took his hands in hers and placed them on the strings holding up her nightshirt.

His eyes widened and, in a barely audible voice, asked if she was sure.

She answered with a nod.

Dean’s hands—large and calloused from years of training—shook as he fumbled with the strings.

She really tried not to giggle. He glared playfully up at her, and she was quick to defend herself. “It’s just…I thought I was only one who was nervous.”

He chuckled. “‘Course I’m nervous, sweetheart. Need to make this special for you.”

She leaned in, kissing the tip of his nose as he had done for her. “It’s you, Dean. That’s all I ever wanted.”

He smiled as the final string was pulled loose. His hands left her chest and went down to her knees. He watched her carefully as his hands slid slowly up her thighs.

She couldn’t breathe, both because of her nerves, but mostly because the feeling of Dean’s calloused hands moving against the smooth skin of her thighs.

Then, his hands were on her hips. He took a moment, looking for any hesitation in her.

She took a deep breath through her nose, then raised her arms above her head.

“Fuck,” he groaned and shoved the nightdress up and over her head.

His hands were immediately on her face, pulling her in for a bruising kiss. They both moaned into it as their bare chests were shoved up against each other.

In seemingly no time at all, Dean’s hands were on her breasts.

She gasped against his lips. Her fingers tangled themselves in his short, dirty blonde hair, desperate for something to ground herself.

His thumb ran over her pebbled nipple, which earned him another moan. Then, as he clumsily massaged her breasts, he pulled away, trailing his lips down her neck, to her collarbone, to where his hands were at work.

“F-Fuck,” Y/N arched her back, pushing her breasts closer to Dean’s eager mouth.

He grinned. “Never heard you swear before, Princess.”

She whined, “Don’t tease me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he mumbled against her breast. He pressed kisses to one as his hand worked the other, getting surer of himself as he went on.

He pulled away, returning his lips to hers as he gently laid her back on the bed. As he sat back up, he intertwined his fingers with hers, pulling her hand up as he leaned down to press a kiss to each of her fingers.

Then, he stood up from the bed, leaving her panting and nearly writhing on the bed. His tongue peeked out to wet his lips as his eyes raked over every inch of her body.

She should’ve felt self-conscious, should’ve covered up, but Dean looked at her with such blatant adoration that she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything other than beautiful.

He smiled at her, grabbing her ankles and pulling her closer to the edge of the bed.

“Wuh-What are you doing?”

Dean pretended to not be embarrassed as he spoke, “Dad and I had a…a really awkward talk this morning. Gave me some tips to help you.”

She blushed red enough to be confused with a tomato. “Please…don’t bring up your father right now.”

He laughed at that, calming a little. “Sorry,” he mumbled as he knelt down between her legs.

“W-Wait!” Y/N started, making his stop in his tracks. She pushed herself up to get a better view of her husband, resting on her elbows. She then tried, in vain, to bring her legs together as she asked, “What are you doing?!”

He huffed and, God help her, the breath caressed her most intimate parts and sent an almost-invisible shudder through her. “I’ll hurt you if you’re not…um, prepared.”

She hadn’t thought that she could blush more.

She was wrong.

“So, this is the only avenue available to us?”

He smiled, placing his hands on her hips, his thumbs tracing her pelvic bone. “Let me try this. Please?”

Y/N let her head fall back onto the bed. She couldn’t concentrate with _him_ being all… _himself_ and looking at her like she was an altar he was begging to worship at. She grimaced and covered her eyes with the heels of her hands. “Okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“…yes.”

“You sound a little unsure there.”

“Dean,” she groaning, slamming her hands down on the bed and fisting the sheets tightly. “Jus…Just do it.”

There was a beat, an eternity where nothing happened.

Then, he licked a broad stripe up her folds, and she clamped her hands over her mouth to hold in a scream.

Then he did it again, and one of her hands flew to his head.

Dean pulled away for a moment, concern flooding his features. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’ve just…I’ve never felt…” she frowned, unable to put her thoughts into words. Mostly because they were humiliating.

She could hear his smirk in response, and she felt him press a kiss to her inner thigh, right next to where she now desperately wanted him to be.

He went back to work. He licked her lips once more, before using his thumbs to spread them. It took him practically no time at all to find the small bundle of nerves that finally pulled some noise from her that she couldn’t contain.

Then his tongue found her entrance, and she nearly cried. He probed it slightly before traveling back up to her clit, sucking that between his lips.

It felt like her body was on fire. Then his finger teased her opening and it was like what had been a spark was now a wildfire.

He pulled away, putting his pointer finger in his mouth and dragging out slowly enough to be positively pornographic. Then, he returned to acquainting himself with his wife’s pussy.

His lips assaulted her clit as his now-wet finger slowly worked itself inside her.

It was a strange feeling, honestly. Not bad in any way, but she’d never felt anything like it before, the stretch and the warmth. She gripped the sheets under her head, unsure of how to function at that exact moment.

Pretty quickly, another finger joined the first, and she groaned at that. “Holy…” she gasped, suddenly forgetting how to breathe.

His fingers stroked her, searching for every spot that made her writhe, made her moan, made her squirm. Then, he crooked his fingers, and she exploded. The only thing she could hear the blood rushing in her ears as everything went white.

When she could focus again, Dean was climbing back over her, wiping the shine from his face with the back of his hand. “Well,” he began, only a little out of breath. “I don’t know about you, but I had fun.”

She laughed at that. “Well, I’ve certainly never felt like that before.”

“You’re welcome,” he mumbled against her neck.

“Should…Should I try that for you?

He groaned, practically making her entire upper body vibrate. “That sounds…next time. Definitely next time.”

“Are you sure?”

He pulled back to give her a slow, sensuous kiss. She tasted something distinctly not Dean on his lips, and she knew that she was tasting herself.

“I don’t need preparing,” he mumbled as he rutted his hips against hers.

She felt him rubbing against her center, and she grabbed her husband for support. “F-Fuck, Dean,” she moaned.

He smiled genuinely. He reached one hand down, taking his cock in hand to rub it along her folds. “Son of a bitch, sweetheart,” he muttered. “You’re so wet.”

She flushed. “Is that good?”

“It feels amazing. You’re amazing,” he whispered, lining himself up with her entrance. He looked up at her, smiling softly. “Are you ready?”

She took a deep breath, looking right into the hunter green eyes of her husband. “I love you.”

He leaned down, kissing her soundly, and nothing else needed to be said. He pushed in slowly, letting go of himself to grab her hand and twine their fingers together.

She bit her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. It didn’t hurt, not really, but her entire body was taught, and the stretching was bordering on pain.

He was moving in inch by torturous inch, sweat practically pouring off of his brow as his jaw ticked. She squeezed his hand, trying to silently thank him for his patience.

When his hips finally met hers, they were both shuddering a bit. “Son of a…” Dean groaned, his head falling into the crook of her neck.

Her free hand gripped the soft hair at the base of his neck, holding him close. She gave a breathless laugh before peppering his shoulder with light kisses, trying to get each freckle at least once.

When she finally adjusted, she squeezed his hand again and whispered into his ear, “I think you can move now.”

He pulled back enough to smash their lips together. Then he pulled his hips back slowly and pushed back in at the same pace.

She moaned against his name against his mouth, her brow furrowing together, as his hips rolled against her. With every pull, she felt every centimeter, every millimeter inside of her, the delicious drag of him, and she was definitely going to die from this.

She arched her back, pressing herself as close as she could to him. Dean practically growled and snapped his hips into her.

That ripped a shout from her and she tugged a little at his hair.

“Did I hurt you?” He stopped, the concern overpowering everything else.

She shook her head. “Do that again, _please_.”

He grinned and pulled his hips out slowly, snapping hard and fast back into her. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and her legs wrapped around his hips.

“Son of a bitch, you’re perfect,” Dean laughed breathlessly.

She smiled, pulling his face back down to hers as he began slamming into her. Their fingers finally untangled, and Dean used his hand to massage her breast. Y/N’s nails dug into his back and her lips attached to his neck, a primal need to mark him as hers taking over her every thought.

Finally, his hand trailed down, his thumb reacquainted itself with her clit, and, with one rub, she was gone. She bit into his shoulder and shouted against it as she came apart.

Dean followed a minute later, his hips stuttering and losing rhythm quickly as her walls fluttered around him and pulled him over the edge.

She vaguely heard her name fall from his lips and felt him release inside her, a different kind of warmth filling her.

They laid tangled together a few moments longer, unwilling to be apart. However, as their sweat-covered bodies began to cool, Dean finally pulled away. She whimpered as he pulled his softening cock out of her, sad to be disconnected from him.

He smiled dreamily at her, and she was sure she looked just as silly as him, but she didn’t care. They awkwardly, with jelly limbs, managed to maneuver under the covers. The moment they were both under, Dean’s arms wrapped around her middle and pulled her right up against him, nuzzling his nose into the crook of her neck. She giggled at the sensation, squeezing him tightly.

He pulled back, letting her rest her head on his chest and running his fingers through her hair. She took his hand in hers, playing with his fingers.

“How’re you feeling?”

Y/N looked up at him to see a sleepy smile and concerned eyes. “I feel…incandescently happy.”

His smile got a little bigger, and he pulled her a little closer.

“Did…did you enjoy it?” she mumbled against his chest, almost afraid to ask.

“Sweetheart, if I enjoyed it anymore, I might’ve died.”

Satisfaction bloomed within her, spreading to every fiber of her body. “I’m so relieved to hear that.”

A kiss was pressed to the top of her head. “If it helps, once we’ve rested a bit more, I’ll show you again just how much I enjoyed it.”


End file.
